Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I could go back in time to when the man, sitting across from me at this candlelit table, was a little boy. A rascal of about six years whose favorite time of week consists of Saturday morning cartoons and whose tears are only reserved for elbow scrapes. As he's proudly toting his new bicycle around the park, I kneel down to meet him eye-to-eye.
I would tell him that when he meets a girl with silky, dark hair and milky, brown eyes a decade later - to treat her preciously and with extreme care. To clutch her glass heart gently but firmly with both hands and to never abuse the trust she will place on him. She will run on such naïveté though she knows better than to let so much slip away. I would tell him to never take for granted her loyalty because her loyalty is not given but earned and, once slighted, easily lost. To keep that token, he must be impeccably true to her, to himself, and to his words which will, indeed, serve a great challenge. Because in a world where things, people, emotions come and go, sincerity will be the wall that will lead her through the dark tunnels she oftentimes finds herself alone in. Most importantly, I would tell him that there will, of course, be hardships and disagreements but to hold her close by his side through the toughest of times, not because he feels obligated but because, with her, the colors would appear more lively, the flowers would dance, and the wind would sing.
He then smiles at me before running into his loving mother's arms as she asks if he was speaking to an imaginary friend.